<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>a phone call away by hailingstars</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618688">a phone call away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars'>hailingstars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>someone gets hurt (febuwhump 2021) [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Broken Bones, Dealing With Trauma, Drunk Peter Parker, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:35:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tony,” he said. He opened both eyes just as Tony put the Gatorade and the pills on the bedside table. “What happened?” </p>
<p>“Don’t remember?” asked Tony, with a smirk that told Peter doom was imminent. </p>
<p>Peter stared at the Gatorade bottle, then looked down at the bright red cast on his arm. He wondered how he was expected to open bottles using only one hand. “This really sucks.” </p>
<p>“Yep,” said Tony. “Sounds about right. That’s what happens when you drink half your weight in alcohol.”</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Peter copes with his post-snap trauma by drinking. Tony worries, and helps.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>someone gets hurt (febuwhump 2021) [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>febuwhump 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a phone call away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter opened his eyes, only to quickly shut them after being assaulted by the lights. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His headache blared to life, and his right arm was encased in a cast. He couldn’t remember what he’d done to earn this trouble. What he’d done to merit this rude awakening in Avengers Tower medbay, but he had a sinking suspicion it had all started with Flash and Abe bringing out the keg.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned and pushed his head into the pillow and wished he was literally anywhere else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s alive.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter popped one eye open and saw Tony by the doorway with Gatorade and a bottle of pain relievers in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” he said. He opened both eyes just as Tony put the Gatorade and the pills on the bedside table. “What happened?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t remember?” asked Tony, with a smirk that told Peter doom was imminent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stared at the Gatorade bottle, then looked down at the bright red cast on his arm. He wondered how he was expected to open bottles using only one hand. “This really sucks.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep,” said Tony. “Sounds about right. That’s what happens when you drink half your weight in alcohol.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A memory hit him. One of the white hot pain in his arm, and one of having his head in the toilet, puking, while Tony hovered somewhere above him telling him to get it all out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter groaned again. Maybe it was better not to remember. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“From the baby-monitor cam-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-really wish you’d stop calling it that-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-it looks like you were swinging under the influence,” said Tony, ignoring his complaint about the name, “and at some point you swung into a building, fell, hit the sidewalk and landed on your arm, all before trying to fight a trash can.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I at least win the fight?” asked Peter, miserably. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You tell me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was obvious, even to Peter, that he’d lost. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter vaguely remembered a swirl of streetlights, the impact of a brick wall, and flailing his legs and arms as he fell. It was clear from his harsh landing on the pavement that in his drunken state he hadn’t been quick enough to save himself from the fall with his web shooters. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And if you’re a little foggy on the first part of your evening,” said Tony. “You might wanna turn your attention to Thomson’s Instagram.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter closed his eyes, and muttered, “He didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, he did,” said Tony. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna kill Flash.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If May doesn’t kill you first,” said Tony. “Or me, for that matter. What were you thinking?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno. Maybe I wasn’t. It was just, a party, you know? It was fun. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was</span>
  </em>
  <span> being the keyword I think,” said Peter. He lifted up his broken arm. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>definitely isn’t fun. How long do I have to have this on?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Forever.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Funny,” said Peter. He sighed. “So much for super healing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, all that alcohol probably put a damper on your freaky spidey healing, so you’re just gonna have to heal like us normal folks, at least for a couple of days,” said Tony. “Which is just as well considering your aunt is probably gonna ground you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter groaned, threw his head back into his pillows, and stared at the unattainable, frosty Gatorade bottle. He tried to ignore his pounding headache, the way his eyes hurt and begged for the lights to be dimmed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This hangover was torture. Though he probably deserved it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you mind, uh, opening that?” asked Peter, pointing at the Gatorade with his free hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony took the bottle from the nightstand, opened it, and handed it to Peter, who accepted it with his good hand and gulped down half the Gatorade in one drink. He left it open when he put it back down on the nightstand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure this was really just about a party?” started Tony. “That you really just having fun, because I -”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Tonnnyyyyy,” said Peter. The headache was torturous enough. He didn’t need a lecture to come with it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kid, I’m just saying,” said Tony. “Take it from someone who was lucky Instagram didn’t exist during his party years.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you aren’t,” said Tony. “But it can happen to the best of us, and Pete, this is the third time in a month you’ve been caught with alcohol. I’m supposed to believe there were times you </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>caught?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not supposed to believe anything,” said Peter. He closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can you dim the lights, please?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony did what Peter asked, and dimed the lights. He sat back down in the bedside chair with a sigh. “I’m just worried about you. This isn’t like you at all -”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Can I please just rest?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” said Tony. “Fine. But we’re gonna have to talk about this sooner or later, and you know, I’m always a phone call away.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter didn’t open his eyes again until he heard the doors just, until Tony was gone, and he was no longer at risk of having to talk about things. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was supposed to be grounded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>May had reacted exactly the way Tony had told him she would, and sentenced him to two weeks in his apartment with only schoolwork and chores to keep him company. Chores that he couldn’t even properly do with one arm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That hadn’t been such a big deal after a couple of days, which was the amount of time it had taken Peter’s arm to heal and for his cast to get taken off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And when his arm became free, breaking grounding became easier, so he did, to escape his quiet apartment and his loud and menacing and threatening thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He crashed a party. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Someone at Midtown hosted it. He didn’t know who, really, and didn’t care to ask. He noticed none of his circle were around. Not even Flash, who usually got invited to every party and rarely turned down an invitation. He didn’t like it. The way parties and large rooms felt lonely and desert when they were absent of his friends. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stayed only long enough to get a buzz going. It wasn’t the good kind, either. His thoughts stayed loud, only they were also swimming, and he’s sloppy as he stumbles around on the dark, New York street. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It occurred to him that was lost, and he was hit with that familiar dread that had occupied him while he was in space. That he may never get home. That he might disappear into the wind before he’s got the chance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook and his breath came fast. He sweated, and wanted to cry, and wanted to be back in his bed or just stay in his apartment, watching TV with May. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know, I’m always a phone call away.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The memory of Tony’s words broke him out of his panic, and slipped his hand into his pocket and fumbled around with his phone until he managed to press on Tony’s contact. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter? What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Tony,” said Peter. He didn’t like the sound of his own voice. How desperate it sounded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” said Tony. “Where are you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lost.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit tight, alright? I’m gonna find you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They hung up, and Peter sat on a bench under a streetlight. He waited. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter didn’t throw up, but he wished he could. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He woke up the next day at Tony’s penthouse. He was nauseous, and shivered, even from under a pile of blankets, and he wished desperately that he could forget the night before. That wasn’t possible. His memories might have gaps in them, but he’ll never forget the paralyzing fear of being moments away from vanishing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony must have been alerted that he’d woken up, because he pushed open the door to the guest room almost immediately. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How’re you feeling?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sat up, slowly, and hugged the blankets closer to his body. “Like shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds about right,” said Tony. “We still gotta talk about it, though. I let it slide last time, and it was a mistake.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>mistake</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” said Peter. He shivered. “And don’t worry. I’m never going to drink again. Not after last night.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony let the uncomfortable silence settle over them, and Peter didn’t like it. He had to fill the air with his explanation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I was using alcohol to escape,” he admitted. “You know it’s like sometimes my head is just so loud, and it feels like I’m going to be obliterated at any second, and alcohol numbed that. Made me forget.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Until it didn’t?” Tony had phrased it as a question, but Peter had no doubt the man knew where it was going. That maybe he’d been there and experienced it himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Peter. “Last night it just made anything worse.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That happens,” said Tony. “Alcohol magnifies your emotions. Not a great way to deal with your trauma.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re telling me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony squeezed his shoulder in a sign of support, and there was relief written on his face. As if he’d been worried that entire time, but instead of helicoptering over him, had let him work it out on their own. Maybe they were both growing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now the question is,” said Tony. “How do we prevent it from happening again?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m never going to-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-but you might. Shit happens, and if you don’t figure out a way to deal with these feelings, they’ll eat you alive, or make you turn to some pretty desperate solutions.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Talking to you and May helps.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Tony. “But I think you may need to talk to someone else, like a professional.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to go to therapy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it would help you,” said Tony. “I speak from experience, I go, and it helps me, and if it can help me, it’ll help anyone.” He paused, chewed on his lip. “And hey, you’ll have someone to complain about me to.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter laughed. “I don’t know if any therapist has that much time or patience.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Brat.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just being honest,” said Peter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna make you an appointment,” said Tony, quickly, before Peter could even properly make a decision either way. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay,” said Peter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t know if he would’ve agreed if Tony hadn’t made his choice so easy and clear, and although he was sure therapy would be difficult, he was content, thankful even, that he had people like Tony pointing him in the right direction. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I didn't mean for this to come across so PSA-ish. I write a lot of funny drunk Peter fics, and wanted to show that alcohol used in the wrong context can be harmful!! anyways!! thanks for reading!!</p>
<p>comments and kudos let me know what you think!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>